Hunger
by audreyslove
Summary: Regina must kill before going into a bloodlust. to prevent the loss of innocent life, she kills those who commit crimes against others. One night, starved and desperate, she spots a burglar who may have committed mass murder. But her intended victim is not as he seems.
1. Chapter 1

She is hungry, so hungry.

It's not a human type of hunger, this gnawing ache that grinds at her bones calls for release, consumes every thought she has with a low roar of "eat, Eat, _EAT_."

Every tempting treat that she happens across makes the pain so much more, but isolating herself from seeing them doe not good, ow she sees them in her dreams, dancing,

It's unspeakably worse than anything she had felt before she turned.

Though of course, sadly, she's suffered worse after becoming a vampire. She shakes her head at that memory, of when she still thought her body belonged to _her._ It doesn't, it belongs to whatever dark force exists in this universe,

If she doesn't eat soon, that dark force will take over her body yet again.

Desperate, vicious, selfish, with only the need for satisfying the hunger on its mind.

And god, how her body responds to urges when her resolve is overpowered.

She can't let it get to that.

Not again.

She won't be the reason innocent life is slaughtered.

Never again.

She needs to find a meal quick, which is why she took off to the city. There is a verifiable feast of sin here in London. She doesn't care much for the whores, the pickpockets and the thieves, they are driven to their crimes, usually, by illness and poverty. She looks for those who hurt children, abuse women, to those who murder, rape, and torture.

Now the only issue with London — and why she usually avoids cities — is that the streets are always alive with passers-by, and she cannot follow anyone into their home, of course, unless invited, so she has to kill on the streets, which runs the risk of her being seen.

She prefers to kill her prey in the villages, on the lonely footpaths in the forest. She can leave the body there, you see, with a bit of post-mortem mauling, and no one even suspects murder. It's always an animal, a pack of wolves or maybe even a bear, _something_ that tore and bit the flesh, the lack of blood is sometimes whispered about, but often by the time the body is found decay has already started, and all those issues are explained away.

And no one ever wants to investigate, since her victims are usually someone the town has quietly _despised._

So she likes the small villages, she can make her home there for nearly a full year, taking her victims from nearby areas and occasionally right in town, careful to never kill more than once a month but also never to kill like clockwork once a month, for that is too suspicious.

In the past, that has had her investigated. The far too pretty, far too single newcomer coming to town, with an interesting series of deaths coinciding with her appearance to town… well, she knows how to avoid that now. She's smarter.

For a few decades, she even took a husband to fit in a bit. Chose an idiotic self-absorbed man to marry. He was blissfully unaware of her true nature, and it hadn't been as hard as she thought to hide it from him. But as he aged, and she did not, even he was unable to be blind to her _differences_.

It hadn't ended well.

But that is in the past.

She had been in Westhaven for nearly a year, and that area kept her well fed and satisfied until now.

Finding her victims in the villages can be…a bit difficult. Villagers keep secrets, they explain away every horrible occurs, leaving her to investigate to find the villains in them. Their crimes are hidden, revealed only to those who are able to gain trust.

She was very successful at first, but she's nearly cleaned up the entire surrounding area. Someone is torturing animals around the town — she was working on finding out who, but she had no leads, and fuck, she doesn't have any more _time_ to find more monsters in there.

So she took off to London in a flurry, in a race against her building hunger.

She's walking down a darkened alley when she sees a horse-drawn carriage approaching, smelling of food and wine. It's late at night and unusual for the time of day, and that strikes her as odd. And the home it has stopped near looks decadent and wealthy. She's curious, in her experience the wealthy are often abusive and cruel. They ignore the impoverished, even the children, they eat their fill and throw out leftovers while others starve and pick through their garbage. And that is just the start of their offenses, usually.

So this carriage has piqued her curiosity, to say the least. Perhaps there are some dark secrets in that carriage, instead of a decadent late night meal.

She hides in the alley, watching, hoping for an opportunity to find something worthy of death, because she's hungry, god, so hungry.

A curious thing happens, then.

She sees a man in a mask enter the alley, unbeknownst to those in the carriage. Truly in this darkness, no one could see him, no one with human eyes, anyway.

But she can see perfectly in darkness, unfortunately for this stranger.

He opens the cart's back door, and she thinks, when he grabs that jug of ale, he means to rob them, in which case she'd let the man be on his way and leave.

But he opens the jug and pours some powder in it, then sneaks back into the alley, hiding not far from her.

She can smell it in the air, it is medicinal, this powder, she cannot tell if it is _poisonous,_ however.

She thinks no, it is not.

But it is interesting. And perhaps it's worth staying for a bit longer.

The driver is knocking on the door now, and she waits, watches as a well dressed, uniformed man answer.

"Chief Nottingham," the driver says, bowing (actually bowing!). "I found myself in excess of food tonight. I thought you might enjoy a late supper snack."

There is silence, and then this Chief Nottingham inspects the cart, perusing food items.

"You wouldn't be giving me any spoiled meat, would you, Jefferson?" Nottingham asks.

"No, it's fresh today from our restaurant. I give you what would normally go to our family and friends."

"The leftovers," Nottingham gripes like the ungrateful asshole Regina already believes him to be.

"Well why not come into the pub for a meal, on the house?" this Jefferson inquires. "I want to assure you going into business with me has its benefits."

Nottingham just grunts. "Take it in. I'll think about your offer. Though I'm not very hungry, I must say."

Regina's blood boils thinking of the starving orphans not too far away, yet the food is delivered to this well-fed Nottingham anyway.

He might have claimed he wasn't hungry, but he sure is thirsty. He and his wife, and another man she thinks might be his older brother, or maybe a father… some sort of relative, all partake in the wine given to him. Even the servants sneak some wine.

She watches, listens to the voices inside the Nottingham home as their loud boastful laughs become slower and stuttering. Nottingham's wife has ventured upstairs. Regina spots her through a window, watches her fall to her bed with a sudden drop. Nottingham is in a living room chair, appears to be entirely unconscious. One of the servants — the one who snuck the most wine — is lying on the kitchen floor.

The man in the mask is clever and quiet. She doesn't spot him until he is already inside — must have snuck through a window on the other side of the house.

He's robbing them now, taking all that food, as well as some coin and some valuables, bundling it up in an ever-growing sack.

He killed these people, she realizes. She was wrong about the powder, it seems it _was_ poison. He has killed not only the man of the house but the servants and the man's wife. For their wealth, it seems.

She watches this masked man come within a breath of Chief Nottingham, staring him down as if to make sure he's dead. And then he takes off to the other end of the house to make his exit.

She usually doesn't prey on thieves. But this man isn't just a thief. He's murdered an entire house full of people.

She's found her monster.

The hunger inside her is pulsing, now, at the thought of being satisfied, finally, thank god, or Lucifer, or whoever has given her this new guilt-free feast.

She's quick to the other end of the home, ready to pounce, but…

The masked man is not quite alone. He's handing things to a man who keeps running it off to a nearby horse and cart. They are really making away with quite a bit.

This masked man may be a murderer, but the man helping… she's not so sure about. There's a kindness in his eyes she can't shake. And she doesn't really need the blood of two.

She can wait. She can follow them, and wait for them to separate.

.::.

Regina is a predator. A vicious, calculating predator. She's equipped with everything she needs to stalk her prey, including the ability to track prey without making much of a sound.

She can tell these men are skilled thieves, and would normally catch on to someone trailing them. But they don't notice her presence as they ride.

The masked man is no longer wearing a mask, and that's a shame.

He's actually very good looking. His eyes are blue, like deep pools of lake water, like the sky in those vibrant moments before the sun sets. It's almost a pity that no one else can appreciate these eyes, not in the dark.

His jawline looks as if it were chilled by an incredibly talented sculptor, lips naturally pink in the night air, a flush of red highlight his perfect cheekbones as well.

She hasn't felt _attraction_ in a long while, at least not to a man. She's had sex, she's found herself drawn to other vampires, occasionally, but she hasn't found herself drawn to a human make in a long time, certainly not enough to pierce through the hunger inside her.

She's not sure _how_ she's able to feel anything besides that pain, and it is jarring, to say the least.

Perhaps he's such a delicious meal, and she's so hungry, her emotions are playing tricks on her.

God, she really needs to eat.

When the carriage stops she can almost cry from happiness, surely these men will separate after hiding their wealth for the night, and then she can eat.

An interesting place to hide stolen property, she thinks. A workhouse.

She realizes the truth right before the no-longer-masked man shimmies up to the second-floor window and knocks.

"Robin!" A boy opens the window with a cheesy grin.

"Hello, Henry. Special delivery, just as I promised."

No. _No, no, no._

"Is that roast beef?" The boy squeals, pointing to the roast in John's hand.

"Yes, it is, but Henry, as we discussed, we must be quiet."

"I know." Henry's voice drops to a whisper Regina can hardly hear herself. "If Mr. _ finds out, he'll take all the food for herself and beat us."

"And then I'll have to beat _him,"_ Robin responds, "and I'm already in enough trouble, we wouldn't want me to get in anymore, right?"

"We'll be quiet, I promise, Robin!"

She's mesmerized, it seems, unable to move.

If she had killed him in that alley, these orphans would be starving, she…

Thank god for the man with him. Thank god she still has the willpower to hesitate.

She remembers he's still a murderer, at least. And she is running out of time. A murderer with a heart of gold might cause her to lose sleep, but at least it's better than killing dozens of innocents.

And when she gets to that point, when her hunger overtakes her, that is what happens. The death of innocents.

She's trying to focus, trying to work out this moral pickle, so consumed with her own inner thoughts she doesn't hear the man approaching.

"You look hungry, milady," he says, those blue eyes sparkle as he holds out a piece of cheese and bread for her.

"I..." she says, too startled to breathe. It's ironic, of course, because she _is_ hungry, though not for food. "No, no, please, give it to the orphans, I… I can manage."

Her stomach burbles, the closeness of _fresh meat_ filling her lungs, yet the temptation to rip him to shreds isn't as bad as she would have thought.

Even as starved as she is now, for some reason she cannot find it in her heart to kill him.

"As you wish," he whispers back into her ear, and then an even quieter "stay here, just for a bit."

She does, feels rooted in the ground as Robin travels back to Henry, carrying the last of the food up to him.

"But she looks _hungry,"_ she hears Henry argue in hushed whispers. "She needs to eat too."

"I'll make sure she does, Henry, I promise you," this Robin says.

She sees that the boy still hesitates, and Robin notices too, asks him what is the matter.

"You didn't make anyone hungry tonight when you took this food, right?" Henry asks, dear god, this child is too good for this world.

"No, my boy, I only take from the rich, you know that. They have more than enough to feed you boys. But try to stretch this as long as you can. The preserves —"

"I know, we will save what we can," Henry promises. And then a whispered, "are you sure I can't come with you?"

"Henry you know I would…" Robin sighs. "Someday, I'll find a proper home for you."

"I don't want a proper home, I want to stay with _you."_

"I know, Henry, believe me, one day we will make it work. But for now, I need you to stay here and help all the other boys, okay?"

There's a stifled sigh, and then Regina sees the young boy nod.

"That's a good boy. I'll be back soon, I promise."

"Bring Roland next time?" Henry asks, and Robin laughs.

"Perhaps I will have him drive instead of John, next time."

Henry's eyes widen and he nods vigorously at the idea.

They say their goodbyes and Regina is just stuck watching, unsure of what to do and oddly unable to move.

"Come with us," Robin requests, holding his hand out to her. "I made a very special young boy a promise that I would feed you, and I am nothing if not a man of my word."

She should run in the other direction, she really should.

She can't kill him, not now, and she _needs_ to eat so badly that every hour she goes hungry she's at risk for causing a disaster.

She follows him anyway, unsure of where he is leading.


	2. Chapter 2

"Where are you going?" Regina asks as they follow alongside the horse and cart. She can keep them company until she finds a meal, but she can't… she has to leave.

"We are taking this cart back to its rightful owner," Robin explains, "and then I'm seeing to it that you eat a meal before we beg off for the night. Where are you staying?"

"I…." she has no idea, really, she's been so motivated by hunger she hasn't thought of where to say she lives, what lies to tell. "I'm not sure I want you to know."

"You're a bit clean and nice smelling to be homeless," John grunted. "Perfect teeth. Are you slumming, Madam?"

John looks skeptical, but Robin does not, he's just curious. "She's not slumming. She's an American immigrant, did you not notice the accent?" Robin asks, his eyes still looking her over.

"I noticed the accent. I'm not sure it's authentic." John gripes, his eyes still wandering over the woman.

And then he directs his cart towards the right because he has no idea what is waiting down that darkened path."

"Wait, don't go that way," Regina says in a hushed whisper.

"Why?" John asked, "It's always safe this time of night, it—"

"There's a group of officers waiting down the next street," she warns.

Robin looks at her curiously, not at all doubtful when he asks, "how do you know that?"

The lie comes naturally. "I walked past them earlier. I'm positive they are still there."

Robin sneaks ahead, creeps down the darkened alley why she and John wait. When he returns, it's with a nod and a grateful smile. "Group of Bobbies right down there, just as she said. Thank you, Milady, that might have saved our ass."

John shifts on his horse and Regina notices the way he looks at her now.

He trusts her, she thinks.

God, how are these idiots still alive, with instincts so bad?

"So, where are you from?" Robin asks.

"I _am_ from America," she states, because it's true, it was true, it was her place of birth, a century and a half ago. "I'm…" she thinks of the phenomenon of slumming, scowling, "I'm new to London. I'm not a wealthy person vacationing in the slums." She purses her lips, thinking on how to explain. "It's complicated."

There's silence and then, oddly, Robin just accepts the meager information she's given him.

"You have a story to tell. But you don't want to tell it now. And I am not here to make you do something you don't want to." Robin says, looking at her with curiosity. "But you've helped us, we are in your debt. So please, allow us to treat you to supper."

She wants to — really wants to, but is entirely unsure of why. She's never felt pulled to spend more time with a human, especially not when this hungry. There is only the desire to eat.

"Besides," Robin adds, "Henry said you need help. He's never wrong."

"It's true," John huffs, as he turns the cart towards a darkened alley. "That boy always knows."

"He has an ability to pick out those most in need, and most deserving of help," Robin explains. "I trust his judgment completely."

Regina could almost laugh at the absurdity of trusting _her._ She almost wants to tell them for their sake they shouldn't trust this young boy's judgment because he has led them into the pit of a lion's den.

But she can't really tell them, can she?

So she nods and smiles.

"I appreciate this, but the but the boy is wrong. I don't need help."

"Then allow us to walk you to your home, Milady, and we shall be on our way," Robin says with a twinkle in his eye.

She groans. She has a place to stay on the outskirts of town, and could never explain how she is able to get there so fast. And it's barely a home. It has shelter, and a bed, some of the protections vampires have to prevent humans from wandering in their home while they sleep.

She sleeps like the dead up until the moment her body is fully recharged. It's supposed to be a strength, but of course, it can be a weakness.

So yes, picking a place to sleep is important. A protected, safe place to rest.

But before she sleeps she needs to eat, anyway.

"Why do you care about me so much?" Regina asks. "I'm a stranger."

"You're a woman alone on the streets of London after dark," John reminds her. "And it seems you aren't entirely aware how dangerous that is."

"I'm sure you knew that you could have alerted the officials when we were smuggling food."

"Did it work?" The man calling out to them in the cockney accent is hiding in the shadows, but she can see him clearly.

"Thank you for the ride," John laughs, jumping off the horse. "And yes it worked. But we aren't alone."

Will stares at Regina, tilting his head as if confused by her. "Did she see anything?"

"I'm fairly certain she knows were thieves," Robin says, his voice full of amusement. "If we were merchants we wouldn't be giving our food away, would we?"

Regina only purses her lips. "I won't be any trouble," she says, "I don't care about thieves who give to orphans."

"Well, not _everything,"_ Robin laughs, looking at the cart, then taking out a rucksack from the cart, handing another to John.

Right. Not entirely selfless.

"Robin…" John warns. "We don't know her."

"She would have run to the police by now if that was what she was after," Robin points out. He turns to her and introduces himself. "Robin Locksley. I'm so sorry I didn't share my name sooner. And yours?"

"Regina Mills," she says above a whisper.

"Now I know you're voluntarily spending company with thieves, but would you be opposed to accompanying us to a place overwrought with lawbreakers and criminals?" He asks, offering her a little wink. "The food is good, the ale is strong, and there's plenty of cheap, clean rooms nearby. You know, should you need them."

Actually, a place full of criminals sounds absolutely _delicious_ to her. But she's supposed to be a damsel, a poor delicate woman, so she better play the part. She asks, "You think a haven for criminals is a place for a lady?"

Robin shrugs. "I swear, on my honor, I won't let any harm come to you."

She's confused, to say the least, by the sincerity of his words, the kindness in his eyes. People… well, men, to be clear they offer her kindness, but it's usually either earned after months of teaching their children, working with them on their farms, or caring for their animals. Usually, the attention she gets from men who do not know her is a bit more predatory. Food and lodging are offered at a price Regina would never pay.

"What do you want from me?" she asks, her voice suddenly so meek.

Robin expects it and nods. "I know how this must look. You're a beautiful woman, and I'm begging you to come with me to a place you don't know. I won't force you to come with me. But I promise you, all I want to do is to ensure you have a bit to eat, and a safe place to sleep. I made Henry a promise."

The streets are almost empty, and frankly, he's suggested the perfect place to find a good meal.

"Fine," she says, with a little smile. "Lead the way."

.::.

Granny's tavern is on the outskirts of the city, tucked away from the crowds of the city, but also, Robin tells her, far away from the city officials and police.

They jump on a cargo ship on the Thames for a quick, free ride out here and she's suddenly very aware of how little she's spoken to the two men who have now become her traveling partners.

"You jumped aboard rather easily, skirts and all," Robin notes, as they make their way between large crates, whispering to avoid the crew from hearing them.

"It's not my first time being a stowaway," Regina admits. "I… I've jumped on a few boats in my day."

"In America?" John asks. "I hear it's beautiful there, sweet-smelling air, gold in the water…"

"It's all a lie," Regina says softly. "It's hard everywhere." She frowns, and decides there's no point in completely hiding the truth from them, after all, it happened over a hundred years ago.

"My entire town suffered a deathly illness," she says, biting her lip. "I survived, but I was alone, and scared, and thought I needed a fresh start on a fresh continent."

"An entire town?" Robin asks, looking so… concerned.

If only he knew the truth of that illness.

"Yes, the entire town. My entire family…." she shivers at the thought of her father's lifeless body, of feeling that pain but being unable to stop the hunger inside her. "I had to leave."

"Of course you did," Robin breathes. "I'm sorry. Have you just arrived?"

"I moved to a village first and worked on a farm," she explains further because the lies come easily when they are laced with truths. "But I couldn't stay. I just… I had to leave."

"You don't need to explain why," Robin assures. "I have many secrets. As does John."

"I'm sure," she says, biting her lip, thinking about the fact they murdered a family.

"You saved us from some officers. You know these items are stolen," Robin explains. "They belong to the man who killed my wife."

There's a chill in the air, as Regina looks up at him with a new appreciation. "So you killed the man who killed your wife?"

"I didn't say I killed him," Robin says tightly. "Wanted to… trust me, I wanted to. But I didn't."

"I wouldn't have blamed you if you had," Regina says earnestly. "The love of my life was murdered the day before we were to be wed. All I wanted was his murderer to suffer death, or perhaps a fate worse than that."

That is true, terribly so. That desire for revenge ultimately irreparably changed her life and made her into the monster she is.

"His murderer, did the illness claim him?" Robin asks, almost hopefully.

"Her. It claimed her, yes." Regina swallows, a chill running down her back thinking of her mother's death. Perhaps the only person who deserved death.

"Good," Robin murmurs, and Regina could almost cry from the easy acceptance of it all.

Robin sighs. "We slipped a sleeping potion into the house ale. And when they all fell asleep, I… I could have, I could have killed him. I wanted to…."

Her breath catches.

Not dead, it seems.

She thanks whatever force it was that had her pausing, hesitating. This is a life worth protecting, and she damn nearly killed him.

"Why didn't you kill him?" she asks.

"Marian," he mutters. "My wife. She made me promise, when I entered into this dangerous profession, that I never take more than I need. I may break the law, I may be a thief, but she wanted me to be a moral one if you believe there can be that. I'm never to kill unless it's for self-defense or the defense of another, never to steal more than is needed. To always help those in need. It was Marian's wishes. And I listen to them still, even if she is not here."

In an odd way, Marian reminds her of Daniel. So idealistic, such a _good_ person. Someone who would undoubtedly have kept her on the right path. If she had listened to the voice of Daniel, she wouldn't be here right now. She would have died a century ago, human and harmless.

"We get off here," John says, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Granny's Tavern is just a short distance from the river. It's also oddly not far from her little hideaway, a thought that unnerves her. There are few coincidences in the world.

It's a loud establishment, vibrant and crowded. But that's not the first thing she notices.

She notices someone must live here.

Because she cannot take a foot inside the building.

Most of the myths about vampires are wrong. She's a living thing with working organs. The sunlight doesn't harm her. She can eat human food, in fact, she can even enjoy it. But one myth that is oddly true is that she cannot enter the residence of a person unless invited.

So she hovers outside the door jam, feeling trapped and scared, unsure how to approach this situation.

Robin seems confused about her state. "Would you like to come in?" he asks her jokingly, holding his hand out to assist her.

Those are the magic words, and thank god, the protective bubble around the tavern falls away, and she is free to enter.

Robin offers her a wink and holds her hand, building her towards the bar — or specifically, the elderly barkeep manning the bar.

"For you, in Marian's name," Robin says, with a reverence that chills Regina. He rummages in his rucksack, taking out bottles of wine and large jugs of a type of alcohol she can't quite discern, perhaps ale, perhaps whiskey.

The old barkeep laughs and takes the jugs and whispers back "Consider your tab paid."pew

"I'll just start a new one tonight," Robin teases her. He's unloading more things for his sack - silverware, a candelabra that looks like it may be pure gold, a few pieces of jewelry — including a string of pearls that catches Regina's eye. John gives over his entire sack with a huff, the old woman flashing him a grateful smile before he leaves them, wandering off to a loud bunch of men who call his name.

"Courtesy of _Marian_ ," Robin says again.

"I know, I know Robin, once I sell all of this, all the money will be distributed in her name. Any causes especially meaningful to you this time?"

"I trust you, Granny," he smiles, and the woman scoffs and takes the items and John's bag, gingerly placing them into an area under the bar Regina cannot see.

Then Robin motions to Regina and Granny's eyes fall heavily upon her. Suddenly Regina feels so exposed, for it's as if Granny can see far more than she lets on.

"Granny, this is Regina. Henry told me to look after her."

"Did he?" Granny asks, looking at Regina with a bit of wonder.

"He did. He said she was in some trouble and I had to help her. And you know how Henry gets."

"I do," Granny sighs. "Well, girl, welcome to my tavern. I can't offer you more than a hot meal and a bed tonight, though…" she hits Robin's elbow, motioning in the direction of a man. "I fear _he_ will try to spend the night tonight. I don't think a woman is safe alone in my inn."

She watches as Robin looks at the man she has pointed to, his eyes narrow, his jaw locks. There's an anger in him.

"Greg Mendell has no place here."

"What am I to do?" Granny asks with a shrug. "He and his men could take the rest of this tavern and hand them their ass. I can't turn down his money. He'd burn this place to the ground."

"What has he done?" Regina asks, already salivating at the thought of a future kill.

"He abuses women," Robin grimaces. "Horribly."

"Not just abuse. He _tortures,_ " Granny corrects. "I'm sorry, Regina, I don't think this is a story for a lady."

"Maybe not, but it's a story I want to hear." Oh, how she wants to hear it, _needs_ to hear it.

"Very well then," Granny breathes, looking towards Robin. "I don't mind men who bring whores to my inn, or whores who use my inn for their business. They have to earn a living, you know?"

"I agree," Regina says easily. "That is quite a gray area at best, morality-wise."

"Right," Granny nods. "So anyway, even when I was young, and working here, I allowed the whores to use the room. I'd clean the linens in boiling water, but, you know, I turned a blind eye to the activities going on."

"As you still do," Robin notes, and Granny can only shrug.

"So one day, years ago, _he_ comes over as some guest of one of the whores. And there are these screams coming from his room, and not the good kind. I walk in and the sounds are coming from a trunk with little holes in it, the girl, she's in there. She's screaming, and all I can hear from him is, 'you're trapped, you're trapped, you can't get away' while he pokes a needle through one of these small holes, sticking her like she's a pin cushion. I pushed him away and he screamed his innocence. Says she's a whore, it's just a game they are playing, and I'm to leave them alone. But then she speaks up, begs me not to go. I had to get my men to come forcibly remove him. And then they find all this crap in his bag." Granny shivers. "There were… instruments in there, I suspect he was going to sue them on her. Dental instruments. surgery tools. Chloroform on a rag"Granny shakes her head, unable to finish.

"Jesus," Regina mutters. "Thank god you intervened."

Granny nods. "We went after him. The girl, once she talked, was convinced he had tortured and killed others. Believes he was the one who had been killing young girls in the area, the one who mutilated and killed these two young girls. Said he bragged about it. He was a young man then, looked a bit innocent, and could talk a fast game… he got away. Ran off into the shadows. No one heard from him or saw him for years. Then one day he returns to the area, with a lot of loyal men, and money. He has a beard, his hair is a different color, he wears different clothes, has a new name.… but I know. I never forget."

"I cry out that it's him, but he's such a good actor. Claims innocence and convinces others that he wasn't the man I remember, that it was someone else. That I'm old and can't remember something 12 years ago. Everyone agrees with him, gives him another chance. But I knew it was him. He gets to say and then… there's poor Emma, I'll never forgive myself…"

"We don't _know_ that it was him," Robin points out, and Regina raises her eyebrow dramatically, an unspoken question on her lips.

"Her body was found, mutilated, locked inside a large trunk. Her teeth had been removed, nearly every inch of her skin is covered in these small cuts, and she's missing an eye. The torture they gave to an unwed mother."

"Emma was a mother?" Regina asks, her eyes darting to Robin.

"Henry's mother," Granny growls, her eyes still focused on him. "He was just a babe, and the man robbed him of his chance with family."

"We don't _know_ that it is him," Robin reiterates. But Regina knows. She knows in her bones, that way she does when something hits just right.

It's him.

"Still, it's best to be safe, girl," Granny warns. "He may look harmless, but that man is a monster."

God, at this moment she's almost glad she is a hunter of monsters.

.::.

In a way, she realizes it will look obvious.

But in another way, she doesn't care how obvious it looks at all.

She's been drinking with Robin, eating the food she pretends has satiated her hunger, all the while keeping an eye on this Greg Mendell. Waiting. Waiting to feast.

Robin is flirting with her, she realizes. Her mind is half occupied on her next meal, but she is still paying enough attention to notice the way he looks at her, the way he speaks.

There's a warmth in her chest she can't remember feeling when she looks into his eyes when he grazes his fingers across her hand, and it would be very concerning if she weren't so distracted.

She wishes she were human for perhaps the millionth time since she turned. Then she could entertain thoughts of touching him back, of kissing him, bedding him.

She's a monster, and he is not. It's not even worth thinking about.

That thought is confirmed the moment Greg Mendell leaves the tavern.

"Going to check on my damn horse," he gripes, stumbling towards the door.

He's drunk, and visible so. And perhaps that will serve her well.

"Excuse me. I'm afraid I need to visit the, um..." She thinks if they will have a water closet here, or whether she can claim she needs to use the privy out back.

"Granny will show you the water closet," Robin says, giving her hand a squeeze. "Be safe."

She is safe, she lets Granny takes her to the facilities, smiles, and enters, waiting, looking out a crack in the door until she sees no eyes on her. And then she darts out and slides out the nearest window.

He's in the stables, alright, but definitely _not_ checking on them.

"Leave me alone!" she hears the voice of a woman. "I mean it, I don't want you, not again."

"You always want me," he growls. "Come on, give it up, or you know what happens."

"No!" the girl slaps him, she hears it loud, the horses whinny, and the sounds stun him just brought for the woman to escape.

Well, that's that.

He starts to run after her, but he doesn't move much more than a few feet before Regina overtakes him.

He's trying to move, trying to scream, but Regina easily keeps him from doing both.

"You're trapped," she whispers in his ear. "You can't escape."

She feels him screaming against her hand, a muffled _Noo,_ and _Please._

"Interesting," she hums, "How often have _your_ victims said the same words? _Please? No, please_. You never listened, did you, Greg?"

"Who are you?" he raps into her palm, and she cannot help but laugh.

"You don't care who I am. You're wondering why I am here. You're wondering if this is revenge, if this karma," Regina hisses, licking down his neck.

"I don't have the answers, Greg. I just know I'm hungry, and you deserve to die."

That vein in his neck is so delectable, she cannot resist it a second longer. Her fangs sink in him easily, and then… she feasts.

There's no way to accurately describe what feeding feels like, at least, not to a human.

The feeling is intensified after a long wait between meals, and this is one of the longest waits she had.

She drinks greedily, every nerve in her body pulses and zings with every pleasurable swallow.

She feels her body becoming satiated, the painful hunger subsides, the relief just as delicious as her meal.

She doesn't so much as take a breath before she drinks him dry, even after she's full, she cannot stop.

It happens when she's this hungry. She loses control entirely. She's not human in these moments, she's just a ravenous, blood-thirsty beast.

When she cannot draw another drop of blood, she gives her body a moment to absorb the new lease on life, her head spinning with the remnants of her new indulgence.

It only takes her a moment to carry his lifeless, bloodless body out to the Thames, running at full speed, she's but a blur.

She's had her meal. It's time to leave, to retreat back, to sleep.

Something inside her screams that she return to the tavern. She shouldn't; she should leave all of London and go somewhere else — maybe France again, perhaps Germany…

But she's tired of traveling. Failing to return to the tavern after the disappearance of a well-known man may draw suspicion and cause her to have to leave the country again, to hide for months, dodging wanted posters naming her a witch or a murderer.

That's the reason she sneaks back into the tavern, picking up a spare ale as she makes her way back to Robin.

It's not him.

This has nothing to do with him.


	3. Chapter 3

"You look like you're feeling much better," Robin says. He's with John and some other men she hasn't yet met. It seems her unusually long absence hasn't been noted.

There's actual color in your cheeks," John says with a smile. "Thought you might be a piece of marble when we first met you."

She feels very on display, for a second she worries her sudden change in appearance will give her away.

She knows the change - she's seen it in herself, in her Maker. It's not a subtle change at all. Her lips become redder, cheeks rosier, eyes brighter, skin clear and hair just a bit shinier and smooth.

She had forgotten about all this when she walked back into the tavern. If they suspect something, remember her sudden change in appearance and absence from the tavern at the same time Greg went missing…

Well, she will have to leave town quickly before the pitchforks come. Because when they come, when she feels threatened, her instincts take over, and she just destroys everything in her path.

She should probably leave now. And she's finding the words to make an excuse to do just that when Robin speaks up.

"It's a wonder what a proper meal can do," Robin winks at her.

"And a little freshening up," John smirks at her.

She could almost laugh.

They think she wandered into the powered room to pretty herself for the men.

How utterly quaint. And a bit self-absorbed… but… well, she can work with that.

"I feel much better, thank you," she admits honestly. "Not sure what I would have done without you."

Robin flashes her a smile, and taps her glass in a silent "cheers". They drink, and then he asks, "So what do you think you will do next, now that you have left that farm?"

Regina laughs and shrugs. "I don't know," she admits. "I… I like children. Helping them, I mean."

"Do you teach?" Robin asks.

That's not the type of help she gives to children, but she has a long impressive work resume to draw on. "Not recently, but before…" she coughs. "I was quite good at it."

"I'll bet," Robin winks at her. "You strike me as the clever type."

"What did you do before you became a professional thief?" she asks, desperate to move the subject to something that isn't about her.

He laughs at the bluntness of the question then smirks devilishly. "I was a bartender."

"A crap one," Granny grimaces, as balances another round on a tray for the men. "He gave away all our profit, we didn't make a damned dime with him handing out meals to every man woman or child in need."

"Don't listen to the old woman, she loved me here," Robin smiles. "And I brought in plenty of business, thanks to my charming demeanor."

"It's not _business_ if they aren't _paying,"_ the woman grouses, setting down the last of the ale. "It's _charity."_

"Well, I made us one of the finest charity houses in all of England," Robin counters, winking at Regina.

"But it's true, I gave away a lot, and there wasn't enough to give before the business would suffer and collapse. So I struck up a part-time business that soon became full-time."

"It's unusual to find a man who cares so much about strangers. Especially so close to the city."

"I wasn't always like this," he admits, taking a swig of ale. "That was Marian. I was a bitter drunk, disinherited from my family fortune and mad at the world. And then she came into my life, and everything changed."

"How did you meet?" Regina asks, genuinely curious.

It's obvious he wants to talk about her, the way his eyes sparkle as he shakes his head wistfully. "I tried to steal from her father's farm. She caught me, but instead of turning me in, she tracked me down herself. And lectured me." A chuckle bubbles out of him. "I fell for her in that moment, with her telling me what a pathetic deadbeat I was, and how I could be so much more than I was. She was right. I picked myself up, I realized that I had some skill, after all. She taught me to stop feeling sorry for myself. She was wonderful."

"You married?" Regina asks, hoping he doesn't mind her prying. He nods though, happily.

"Yes, we wed. One of the happiest days of my life. We only had a few years before her death but… it was worth it.

"How? She can't help but ask. "How did she…?"

Robin sighs. "She wasn't the type to ever sit still and watch injustice happen. One day we were in town working on a little scheme to rob some cargo. Marian was acting as a lookout. She had this whistle, a very clear, very loud whistle. Two short whistles for us to stop and scatter, one long whistle for us to come immediately and help her or someone else. So…. we were on the boat, and then… heard the whistle. One long one. I ran as fast as I could, but it was too late. I got there just in time to see Keith arresting her. She kept screaming that she saw him, saw him murder the man in the alley. Nottingham called her crazy, said she was being arrested for public drunkenness. The official story is she committed suicide in her cell. But the man that was dead in that alley, he was a fellow officer. He killed his own man, then blamed Marian, and killed her before she could tell her story."

The story isn't too shocking, but it is devastating and the way he tells it is so honest, it pains her more than she thought possible. The anger she feels is more expected, rage bubbling under the surface.

She thinks she'll stay in town for a while.

She thinks this Nottingham will be the next meal she has.

For Marian.

She'll make sure he knows it's for her, too. Marian might not approve, but perhaps, if she knew that his death would potentially save her from going into bloodlust and slaughtering hundreds...

"But I don't like to think of her death," Robin drawls on. "I like to think of her life. She brought me down this path, gave me a new reason for living, and…. Well, she let me love her and loved me in return. There's an endless list of reasons to be grateful for her. She was selfless, passionate, and quite incredible."

"Daniel was like that," she says, letting herself relive her favorite memories again, just for a moment, "Daniel was my…" but any definition of what Daniel is to her seems inadequate..

"The one you loved, that was taken from you."

"Yes," she nods. "He was very caring. Very tender hearted."

"So that's why you fit together," Robin says softly.

She snorts. "I'm _not_ tender-hearted."

"I don't believe that." Robin tilts his head teaching his hand out to hers ever so discreetly. "I saw the way you looked at Henry. And you were clearly starving but refused to take a morsel of food from them."

She can't really explain why that was anything but selfless, can she?

"You don't know me very well," she wants. "I'm not what I seem."

"I wish I knew you better," he quips. "And I'm sure whatever it is you are, I'll like it just as much."

"Don't be so certain," she warns. "I'm not this… pure good hearted person you think I am."

In fact, she's not a person at all.

Robin raises his eyebrows at her and shoots her a knowing smile.

"You're a single woman I found traveling alone at night in a city overwrought with crime. Yet you were entirely unafraid. You're bold, daring, and maybe a bit dangerous. Definitely intriguing. But make no mistake, I don't think you're an innocent damsel _._ "

Well, come to think of it, he has a point.

"Are you as innocent as you seem?" Regina asks, honestly wanting to know. He does seem so unadulterated, so ridiculously _good_ it should make her eyes burn, should make her body want to reject him _._

"I confessed to you murderous thoughts after we just met. I drugged an entire household and robbed them blind. I'm fairly certain there's not an innocent cell left in my body."

"And yet…" she gives him a good hard look, sweeps over his body, from his boots up to the top of his head, settling on his eyes. "Somehow you still come across as pure as driven snow."

"I'm deceptive that way, I suppose." He sinks his teeth into that bottom lip, and she has thoughts of biting him in ways that don't draw blood, in ways that oddly still make her blush, all these years later.

God, he's pretty.

And such a good person. She hopes he finds joy and peace next month when Nottingham dies.

Maybe she will even make it a painful death.

The tavern door swings open, loud, violent, just as Granny announces the last call.

"Robin!" the man practically flows towards him. She can smell the adrenaline in his blood, the fear so acute. "Robin, I'm sorry, it's Roland. His fever has spiked, he—"

Robin's face turns and screws into horror. "He was better, he said he felt fine I would never have left if…"

"He was fine, but the fever returned, and he's calling for you. I don't know what to do, I need to find a doctor, I—"

Robin looks at her, his eyes wide and fearful. "Forgive me, milady. I must… I have to-"

"Roland?" she asks, waiting for Robin to confirm it.

He nods. "My son. He's—" She knows, she knows human disease acts fast, his fears are entirely rational. "I thought he was getting better. Fuck, this is exactly what happened to Hans."

"He won't die," the man says, "It's not what you think it is, Robin. He is just ill, he wants his papa."

Robin doesn't look convinced.

"I trained with a doctor for many years," Regina says quickly. "Let me help."

Robin seems over the moon with the thought of medical help so late at night, grabbing her hand and a lantern and leading her into town.

He walks up to a stately looking cottage, homey, but well kept.

He hovers by the door.

"Milady, I want your help so much, but I would be remiss if I didn't mention that what Roland may have could be quite contagious, I—"

Regina sighs and assures him, "I won't get sick."

He hovers at the door, and she almost forgets herself and walks into that barrier that keeps her from entering homes. She remembers herself in time, asking "Now, may I come in?"

"Of course, you are always welcome. You needn't ever ask."

He does not know what he's just promised, but Regina does not have time to worry about that right now.

Her teeth clench together as she wishes death would come so easily to her.

"Where is he?" she asks. Their home is not the hovel she had suspected. It's a nice cottage, in fact. It seems Robin is better off than his company would suggest.

Robin leads her, opening the door with a sigh.

"Roland, my boy."

"The boy is sniffling, but those sniffles turn to tears when he sees his father.

"Cold," the boy says through tears, "So cold."

There's a woman with him, an older lady who looks worn and worried.

"Fever spiked, you could cook an egg on his head."

Regina places his hand on the boy's head as Robin holds his hand tightly.

"Who're you?" he asks.

"I'm a doctor. I'm here to help." It's a bit of a lie and he seems to know it, as sick and young as he is, the idea of a female doctor is too ludicrous.

"Will I die?" he asks softly.

"No," Regina says firmly. She will make sure he won't.

"Can he keep down water?" she asks of the woman.

"Yes, but he won't drink. Says his throat hurts."

"Does he have a rash?" Regina asks, the worry hidden from her voice as best she can.

"No, no rash."

True enough, the boy's skin looks free of any more fearful signs of the diseases she fears.

But she must make sure.

She takes a deep breath and asks Roland to open his throat wide while she holds the wrong end of a spoon against his tongue. Robin holds a lantern as close as he can, and she looks inside his throat and breathes a sigh of relief.

No rash. None of that tell-tale grayness she knows is diphtheria.

This is, as far as she can tell, a bad cold.

The mucus coming from his nose is clear, Regina also knows that this is good.

"Roland, you must drink water. It will cure you."

She looks up at Robin. "The water should be well boiled before he drinks it. To get out all the toxins that could be in it."

"His fever," Robin whispers, "Shall we, what can we do?"

"A cool compress for his head," Regina suggests. "He needs to eat a bit. Chicken soup."

"Not… hungry," Roland whimpers.

"I'll make him a paste of herbs that should help with his congestion," Regina says softly.

"We were to prepare an ice bath. And the midwife suggested leeches—"

"No," Regina says sternly. "Neither is good for him. Not with this illness. Do you have mint leaves? I can brew them into tea with some lemon and honey, and perhaps make them into a paste with some oil…

It will work to alleviate his congestion, and perhaps help with this sore throat, but Regina knows it will do little else.

She pours just a bit of whiskey into the tea, rubbing spearmint and peppermint oil on she makes and sits with Roland.

"I'm afraid to sleep," Roland whispers, "What if I wake up and can't sleep like Alexander?"

"His friend has polio," Robin explains needlessly.

"You don't have Alexander's disease, Roland," Regina says gently, stroking his cheek. "Go on, rest. I will watch over you while you sleep. I'll wake you if I see you become more ill, okay?"

"You'll make sure I won't die in my sleep?"

"Of course, Roland. But sleep is not dangerous. It is good for you, rest is good, it makes us better."

"It does?" he sniffles, "that's what papa says, but he's not a doctor."

"Your papa is wise," she assures. "Now sleep. In the morning you will feel better."

His fever does quell, the sniffing stops, his soft snores replace the sound of choked cries, and Regina breathes a sigh of relief.

She needs to sleep as well. Her body needs to rejuvenate. She can feel the telltale signs of that need pulsing under her skin.

She looks up at Robin. "Cold compresses. Tea. Soup. _No leeches._ _No ice bath._ "

"Are you alright?" he asks, and shit, this is rare, but happens sometimes. Without meaning to, she has assessed that Robin and is no threat, that no harm will come to her, and perhaps even that the people here will _help_ her find suitable resting quarters, so her body is making her exhaustion known. Another protection created to promote healing. Fuck this stupid, perfect body.

"I am fine, but I must go."

"Regina," he begs, "let me take you to where you are staying. It is late and you are exhausted. I cannot have you alone at such an hour, the night is so dangerous for a woman."

"It's not dangerous for me," she scowls. "And it's so late it's almost morning. I'm afraid I must go."

"Let me make you some tea first," Robin suggests. She agrees, lets him wander into the small kitchen area, his back turned as he fills his kettle.

Regina spots the bat, then, the figure hovering outside the window for a split second before it disappears.

It could just be a bat, an ordinary bat and nothing more.

Just a confused creature coming too close to the window by accident.

Or, it could be….

She _really_ has to get out of here.

Robin's back is to her and she is quiet as a mouse as she sneaks out of the cottage, praying to god Robin does not follow her.

The weather is damp and her hideaway home is not far. On the outside, it appears to be a half-burnt, broken down windmill. But that outward appearance is a clever disguise. There is a safe resting room inside. It is one of many places known to her kind as a place to rest when sleep is required.

It requires one to walk around loose bricks and rotting wood, on uneasy floorboards through precariously stacked rubble, to find a door to a small, windowless room, walls made of a strong concrete. Many natural boobytraps separate her from any intruder, the outside of the mill looking like there is nothing but rot, decay, and dilapidation inside.

Of course, if the visiting bat was who she suspects, none of these things will keep him from finding her all too easily.

It's pitch black here, though the first beams of the sun were peeking out through the sky when she first entered her hideaway.

She likes the dark, it conceals how lonely and bare her life is.

She does not live the lavish lifestyle of her maker, nor does she live a life of vampire royalty who stay in lavish mansions and old castles filled with servants.

She does not have the protection or connections to create a cover story to live as a wealthy person, even if she had the money. Those things all come at a cost, and she's not willing to do the things she must to afford such a life.

So instead of sleeping in a lavish canopy bed and having servants tend to her wishes, she is here, on a small bed with a cold comforter and a hard pillow. Here is where she will stay until she can find a safe room to rent and a decent job.

Her maker found her method of slumming to be quite the embarrassment, but he also believed treating humans with humanity to be similarly beneath their kind.

She isn't seen him in years, since he told her he was releasing her, severing their tie so they could no longer feel each other wherever they were, so the blood they shared could not pull them together whenever they desired to see one another. He said they were too different, that it did each other no favors. He had made himself a new monster, a new young vampire to follow in his footsteps, and she would be his focus from now on. Regina had to be set free.

She certainly hasn't felt him since he severed ties, so there should be no way he could find her.

Still, the image of that bat haunts her. She only saw it for a second, but she knows her maker's form, knows the way he moves.

It couldn't be him, could it?

No, her maker is most likely still in his stately home in New Orleans, given the number of loyal servants and comfortable living arrangement, why would he move?

She seeks to quell the anxiety in her stomach by reminding herself that today, ultimately, was not a bad day, even if her maker has returned.

She has feasted well. She lives. The boy lives. London still stands, and Greg Mendell is dead.

Yes, things could certainly have gone worse today.


End file.
